A street yawns before you. It's cobblestone, as if the modern era hasn't yet come to the sleepy seaside town of Jeffrey City, and cobblestones are as common as anything in the world. The rain came down steadily, and made the gray interlocking bricks gleam beneath your feet. The thick fog prevents you from being able to see anything distinctly, even those close to you have slightly fuzzy edges, as if they were a photograph soaked in water that has begun to blur and fade. People look at your cautiously from the sidelines of the street- outsiders are obviously not too common in the small town of Jeffrey City. You know a little about the place, and you can gather from the architecture that this red-bricked district was constructed in an era far from modern, probably back during the industrial revolution, as the soot coating the edges of the red bricks might indicate. The factories appear to have long been disused, there's no smoke in the air, just fog, swirling around people and buildings like a phantasm. Several police officers mill about, their badges flashing brilliantly, one of the only clear things in this water-logged down. They seem concerned about something, muttering orders into black radios that crackle with every word. It was beautiful afternoon, despite the sleet and rain, and above the smell of moisture and wet stone came a smell of coffee and pastries. A bakery near by perhaps. The cheerful aroma contrasted strangely with the police, who were looking increasingly and increasingly nervous.... ----- Taras looked around at his surrounding. He began to get a sinking feeling in his stomach. This place felt too much like home, what, with the dampness and the style of the buildings. He had been raised on the Northeast coast of America, where the trees were coated in moss, and the people were equally wet behind the ears. The young Russian man fished in his pocket, coming up with the white letter that had sent him here. He scrutinized the signature, trying for the hundredth time to figure out what the letters mean. Or rather, what the letters are. He glanced at the police, and at the few civilians milling about. Some of them look anxious and worried too, Taras noticed and he couldn't help wondering what was going on, and if one of these people sent him this letter. He noted some other people arriving at the town who appeared to be outsiders, just like him. He wondered what had brought them here. He had never even heard of this town before the letter came to him. He couldn't stop himself from thinking, maybe the letter was sent from him.